


27th

by tjstar



Category: The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: Birthday, Blood Loss, Blood and Injury, Drug Addiction, Gen, Good Brother Ben Hargreeves, Good Sister Vanya Hargreeves, Homelessness, Hurt/Comfort, Klaus Hargreeves-centric, No Incest, Pre-Canon, Sharing Clothes, Sibling Bonding, Sickfic, Stabbing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-16
Updated: 2019-05-16
Packaged: 2020-03-05 11:34:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,568
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18827863
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tjstar/pseuds/tjstar
Summary: Klaus hasn’t planned to get stabbed on his birthday.Vanya hasn’t planned to celebrate her birthdaynotalone.





	27th

“It’s ten past midnight,” Ben glances at his nonexistent wrist watch. “October 1st. Our birthday.”

Klaus clears his throat before striking his brother down with a decent answer; his cough merges into a faint laughter.

“And you’re tellin’ me about this right when I’m havin’ this little trouble with a stab wound in my side?”

“Exactly. You forgot about it anyway,” Ben can’t hide frustration in his tone.

“No, I didn’t,” Klaus hisses at the jarring pain every tiny movement causes. “Happy Birthday, Benny, I wish I could hug you and kiss you on the cheek, but, _shit.”_

Fear entangles around his chest as the blood dribbles through his fingers, hot and as slick as oil. Violent tremors don’t let him apply more pressure, his hand vibrates against the gash.

“You’re gonna die, Klaus.”

“Sooner or later, huh. You’re already dead, why can’t I take a slice of it?”

“Being dead is… Boring.”

Ben is indeed sad.

“At least you’re not forced to use your tentacles to kill criminals anymore,” Klaus encourages him. “An eternal vacation.”

He hasn’t planned to get into a fight on _their_ 27th birthday like a fucking rock star; he hasn’t learned to play the bass yet, and he didn’t even know one of those bastards had a butterfly knife. Klaus was so pleasantly unaware until a sharp blade got stuck under his ribs. The fussing stopped at once, there were too many gasps, yelps and “Jesus Christ, we killed him”, and an embarrassing amount of curses flying out of Ben’s mouth. With an embarrassing amount of blood streaming down Klaus’ side. He’s still _medicated_ enough not to feel a bout of pain in full swing, but he’s also injured badly enough to start a journey straight to Hell. Ben used to be his emotional support ghost, but now he’s just an annoying bee with his words bunched up to a buzz.

“Let’s go to the hospital.”

Klaus blinks at the stars shimmering in front of his eyes.

“We can’t!”

“Why?”

“Because I am a drug-addict, and you’re dead, that’s why.”

Klaus’ blood is screwed up, and he’s chatting with the void all the time. Paramedics never appreciate it. He actually managed to get _that_ knife, now keeping it in his coat pocket; it would have been a great birthday present for Diego.

“Call Diego,” Ben insists, right in time. “You’re about to pass out.”

Klaus has to invest more energy to muster a “shut up.” The last time he called Diego, a woman picked up; since that, Klaus never tried to contact him anymore. Ben should have known.

“Why can’t you just read my minds, Ben? That would be handy.”

“Because your head is empty,” Ben fends off. “So, what’s our plan?”

Klaus shrugs. Chilly autumn wind doesn’t spare him, biting at his bare stomach with the blood congealed all around his navel. His black coat is unzipped, wavering behind his back like a cape. An ex-superhero at his best. Klaus’ shirt is too short for today’s cruel weather; it either belonged to his ex-partner’s sister or he’s stolen it from the store when he was too high to doubt its stylishness. A purple scarf matches purple marks on his neck, and the throbbing ache in his abdomen matches his heartbeat. Blood draws patterns on his tight pant leg, soaking through, drying on his skin like glue.

“Get some damn help, Klaus. Don’t make me watch this _again._ Remember that one time when you had pneumonia?”

Ben is a pro at recalling disturbing memories.

Klaus can’t walk and breathe at the same time.

“Can you skip the lecture? You’re not helpin’, you know.”

They keep plodding down the street, scaring away the lonely passersby; poor people probably think they’re gonna get either robbed or stabbed although the latter has happened already. Maybe all of them are dead.

“You know what’s next? You’re losing blood, you’re ghostly pale. Do you see these black dots obstructing your vision? You feel lightheaded and kinda need to lie down, right?”

Yes and _yes,_ but Klaus is too stubborn to admit it. He can’t coordinate himself in space and time, his shoes stick to the asphalt dotted with drops of his own blood.

“Left-sided puncture wounds are less dangerous, I believe. Less important internal organs there, but if that asshole cut the artery…”

“Stop!” Klaus doubles over with his palms propped on his knees. “Why can’t you like… Evaporate? Go celebrate our birthday without me?”

“Because seeing you live through another year would be a better celebration,” Ben says.

“Well, it’s hard to promise.”

Klaus groans as his bliss begins to fade, and an onslaught of a painful vertigo throws him to the brick wall. He’s off the balance, exhaustion wraps its wings around him, and before he manages to warn Ben that _“this is it, bro, I think I’m out”_ he vomits, not quite comprehending what’s coming up his throat.

He’s cold, he’s ready to hear Ben quote the statistics about all the homeless men frozen to death in the streets last year.

“Nice. Now you’re dehydrated.”

If this could be his only problem.

“No, no, no,” Klaus slides down the wall, clutching his stomach. “Not now, _please.”_

“What?” Ben crouches down next to him. “Are you dying?”

Klaus lurches forward just to be sick once again.

“Much worse. I’m sobering up.”

Ben tries to kick the stone but fails — his foot flies right through it. Klaus tries his best not to kick the bucket, but he’s not sure if he succeeds.

“You know this neighborhood, Klaus.”

“Do I?” he grits his teeth.

“She lives here.”

“You’re showing off amazing topographical skills.”

Klaus barely hears himself as he speaks, but Ben is persistent.

Vanya lives in this exact building Klaus is leaning against; he better scoot away as soon as possible not to meet her just accidentally. But Vanya never enjoyed staying up late as much as she never enjoyed watching her brothers die. Shit happened, and she once volunteered to pay for Klaus’ rehab admission when he overdosed, but he never earned enough money to give it back to her.

“She can help.”

“Can help m’self.”

“You can’t even get up.”

That’s true.

He’s weak, blood keeps leaking out and running down in thin rills, his GOODBYE is all red and clammy, and his legs go numb. But he needs to find a shelter, otherwise this cold autumn night might become his tomb.

Klaus wishes he could sink through the ground when he sees Vanya carrying her violin case.

“Didn’t know the orchestra kids could be night owls,” Klaus mumbles and gets up not to look like a pile of skin and bones on the ground.

There’s the relief spreading across Ben’s face.

“She is your guardian angel.”

“Who needs two of them,” Klaus blows him a kiss.

Vanya is fumbling with the keys in her pocket while Klaus tries to unsteadily walk away.

“Don’t you dare,” Ben warns him.

Klaus stumbles immediately and is about to fall on his bewildered sister just a few steps away from him. His nails scratch against the wall as he clings to it, his left sleeve rides up, baring the umbrella tattoo on his wrist.

Vanya nearly drops her case.

“Klaus? Is that you?”

The first thing he comes up with is a “no, it’s not me” because he’s too frazzled to think straight.

“You’re an idiot,” Ben pipes up.

“You have no idea,” Klaus winces as his wound spews out more blood.

Vanya pulls her beanie down to her eyebrows.

“Is… Is Ben here?”

She knows them so well.

Klaus waves at her with his HELLO hand.

“Jeez, you’re bleeding,” Vanya puts her palm over his. “Come in,” she pushes him into the hallway. “I live on the second floor.”

Satisfied, Ben says,

“You’d do the same for her.”

“One deceased sibling is enough,” Klaus grunts.

There’s no end to their bantering.

 

***

Vanya is shocked, but she doesn’t miss a bit, urging Klaus to take his soiled clothes off immediately. This is the first time he sees his wound clearly, in the bright lights in her living room while she goes to find the first aid kit. His ribs are bruised all over, elbows scabbed from falling repeatedly, and the area around the incision in his side is colored with bluish shades. Or maybe it’s just paleness of his skin. Klaus rests his head on the back of the couch, feeling guilty for bleeding all over the cushions.

Vanya comes back with a glass, a half-empty bottle of whiskey and surgical needles.

“Look at this! Somebody was prepared for my visit,” Klaus attempts to clap his hands, but he’s too busy staunching the bleeding.

Vanya lays the bottle on the couch.

“Don’t move.”

He doesn’t move.

“Do you see Ben at the moment?” she asks as she wipes the blood off his side. “I miss him so much. Can you say… hi from me?”

Klaus turns his head to the corner where Ben stands.

“Hi, Vanya,” Ben says.

“He can hear you,” Klaus smiles. “Our shy boy.”  

His smile fades as the needle hooks the edge of the wound, and it shrinks, locking all the pain and blood inside. Vanya dabs a towel soaked in disinfectant against the broken skin with a massive bruise surrounding the cut. It hurts, but sobriety hurts worse, so Klaus resorts to his own anesthesia that burns his throat and hits the bottom of his stomach like a splash of lava. The room is like a ferris wheel, and Klaus is not that high, not too high.

Four stitches for Number Four, he heaves out a sigh. Vanya frowns.

“It’s almost over, hold on.”

“A couple more hours, and you’d never make it through without a blood transfusion,” Ben adds.

Klaus whines lowly.

Vanya doesn’t look like she’s gonna have a party, she doesn’t look happy at all. Just like he remembers her, always tired with the corners of her mouth turned downwards, but with warmth and kindness in her eyes. She’s just pitying him, and this is not… unnatural. He’d ask her what it feels like living years upon years taking antidepressants, but he’s probably the one to _understand_ this without saying a word.

Not until Vanya asks him first.

“What does it feel like?” so casually, to distract him from his almost sutured wound.

“Pardon?”

“Being… Special. Now, when the Academy has fallen apart.”

Klaus swallows a mouthful of whiskey.

“Terrifying,” he says. “Uncontrollable, destructive, _loud._ Depressive. And, did I mention terrifying?”

This doesn’t impress Vanya at all.

“I wish I were less useless though. But come on,” Klaus nudges her with his elbow. “You’ve just saved my life when no one was around. Well except our dear Benny, sorry,” he winks at Ben. “You’re extraordinary, because you’re not like the rest of us,” he wrinkles up his nose. “Golden kids with their terrific powers.”

Vanya examines the line of bloodied stitches and says,

“But you all have accomplished something.”

Klaus chuckles,

“Being a fucked up ouija board is not a great accomplishment.”

Vanya used to create worlds with her music and dissipate in between the notes, he knows; she escaped into this whirlwind the way he escaped into drugs.

She pats his shoulder when she’s done. Ben mockingly wipes a sentimental tear, and Klaus barely holds himself back from flipping him off. He’s so damn alive with alcohol rushing through his veins and with a white gauze patch plastered neatly to his side.

“Well, happy birthday to us,” he exhales.

Vanya tosses a bloodied towel into a trashcan.

“Happy birthday.”

“My only accomplishment is that I’m still aging while being dead,” Ben says. “And not letting this dumbass bury himself alive. Happy birthday.”

“Cheers,” Klaus brings the bottleneck up to his lips.

He’s surprised when Vanya takes it out of his hands and pours whiskey into the glass. On the bottom of it only, quickly clanking the glass against the bottle.

“Cheers.”

“Is it… Okay with your meds or something?”

“Yeah. Definitely,” Vanya hides her smile. “I’m a non-drinker though.”

“Everyone is a non-drinker compared with Klaus,” Ben quips.

“Just because you’re envious.”

Klaus takes one of his silver amulets on a leather thread off his neck and gives it to Vanya.

“It was supposed to protect me from evil spirits. Never worked though,” he explains. “Maybe you’re luckier than me, sis.”

“Yeah. Maybe,” Vanya touches the runes engraved on it, then adding, “I still wonder what my power would be.”

She doesn’t even finish her drink, but the amulet is dangling’s on her neck now.

“Imagine being able to interact with the dead, for example,” Klaus shrugs. “Seeing mangled corpses following you all around and also bitching with Ben all the time.”

“The latter sounds like a good thing,” Vanya says.

Klaus laughs out loud.

“He turned to an old grumbler since he died.”

“You know I can’t punch you, Klaus,” Ben cracks his knuckles. “But it’s just a matter of time.”

“Whatever. Should’ve hosted a celebration at the mansion, with the cake and candles, all that stuff normal siblings usually do together.”

“I have a candle,” Vanya says.

“Just one? We need,” Klaus looks at Ben. “How many?”

“Eighty one,” Ben says.

“Oh. Eighty one,” Klaus repeats. “Or twenty seven, at least. Never thought I would make it this far in this lifetime.”

Klaus just needs to keep his demons anchored, to lock them up in a prison just like they lock up _him._ Talking to random ghosts leaves him devastated, with his soul taken out, and there’s no way he can fill that hole with alcohol and drugs. But he keeps trying.

Vanya only has one aroma candle that smells like coffee, bitter, but this is fine. Every smell is fine if it’s not a sickly-sweet scent of joss sticks. They blow the candle together, all three of them even though Ben is still way too ephemeral. Klaus really hopes he enjoys this improvised party; they don’t have any music blasting, and there are frozen waffles instead of a cake.

They have never actually celebrated their birthdays while living in the mansion; Sir Reginald would always say that this was a waste of time, but Mom would always give them simple presents as cross-stitched Academy emblems every year throughout their childhood.

“You can stay here, if you want,” Vanya offers.

Klaus finishes the bottle to ignore Ben’s _listen what she’s saying._

 

***

In the morning Klaus is wide awake when it’s still dark outside. The bruise on his wounded side only grows bigger, spilling inky clouds all over his skin; the cut crosses it like a lightning, one wrong inhale and a bloody rain is gonna be shed. He moves carefully, like a stray dog; he’d roll up a joint, but he doesn’t want this lovely apartment to reek of marijuana. There’s an old sweater hanging on the chair, it’s black and big, and so welcoming; Klaus takes it gratefully even though it doesn’t match his fashion standards. Slightly hangover, he creeps past Vanya’s room; he finds a pen and leaves a crumpled piece of paper on the kitchen table, pinning it down with a mug.

 _“we’re shitty rock stars,”_ the note reads, Klaus’ handwriting is messy. Ben glances over his shoulder with a clear _don’t do this_ look on his face.

Klaus leaves.

Vanya’s gonna get it.

**Author's Note:**

> i needed this  
> because why not


End file.
